Dave probably organised the whole thing from the comfort of the Craigton Coach Inn; it was his idea anyway. However a 9am call from Charlie's mobile revealed that Dave was "in the shower" whilst we were sat 25 miles away in what remains of Coupar Angus town centre. As it turned out Dave could be neither legally nor morally sanctioned to be in control of a powerful motor-cycle on public roads probably until Monday morning.
Maybe this was no bad thing as Dave's faith in tyre adhesion to wet tarmac is a far more strongly held conviction than my own personal belief. The usual result is that I spend most of the time getting left behind all anxious and squinting through a visor covered in water droplets, worrying about every irregularity in the road, this is known as RSP (Road Surface Paranoia).
Charlie got the map out at The Spittal of Glenshee but since neither of us had any glasses and the lighting was fairly low key, choosing a route was mainly guesswork. The roads stayed wet for a while so I tried to picture both wheels riding on rails to boost confidence but instead kept imagining deer jumping out from the trees straight in front...
In the end the scariest moment was after I'd called in at the local shop for bread. Heading back round a left hand bend I brushed away a wasp which seemed to be held by wind pressure on my visor. When it didn't move I realised the wasp was held captive inside the helmet. At that point, halfway round a bend, I do admit to a slight feeling of panic; luckily flipping up the visor released the errant insect before it worked itself up into a stinging frenzy.
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